These Shadows At My Feet Of Vultures Overhead
by Copycat
Summary: Post ep for Blood Money. Lisbon and Jane go to the range.


He closes cases, and most days that's enough.

The thing is, though, he doesn't even _like_ guns. Holds them in much the way she would've expected him to hold babies. Gingerly, reluctantly, like they might go off at any second. (Except: he holds babies like he's been doing it his whole life, is a thing she used to spend a _lot_ of time and energy trying not to notice.)

In the parking lot in front of the range she's already jangling the car keys, moving to get out of the car, when she realizes he's still sitting there in the passenger seat not moving at all. His hands are folded neatly in his lap and he's doing that relaxed, calm and collected thing she's finally learning to see through.

"You don't have to shoot anything if you don't want to," she promises. Teasing, maybe just a hint of mocking.

His smile grows, childish enthusiasm masking a hint of relief. She gets the feeling sometimes that he likes it when she calls him on his bullshit. Sometimes.

Against her will and any kind of good judgment she can feel her own lips curling upward. She's pretty sure she's still supposed to be mad at him.

He broke into a suspect's house, got her suspended, got her locked in a shipping container.

Pretty sure, yes.

And yet here they are, sitting next to each other in a car that's parked in front of Al's Shooting Range, and her face won't stop. She looks out through the windshield at the nearly deserted parking lot and then back at him.

"Let's find some cardboard villains for you to shoot to pieces," he says lightly, like the moment she's sure was just there didn't even happen.

Hell, it probably didn't. She masks the sigh she can't suppress by pushing the car door open and getting out.

He hurries around the car and effortlessly falls into step next to her.

He has a way of making things seem easy, simple, even when she knows they're not.

He holds the glass door open for her and she always hated guys who did that in the past. She pays homage to her former self by not acknowledging the gesture.

Al's behind the front desk himself tonight, weighing 9mm bullets in his hand and reboxing them. He nods in greeting, smiles a little too brightly as he points at the sign in forms.

Al has a son, 37, recently divorced. No kids. She knows this because Al told her. Twice. Just moved back to San Diego, too, imagine her luck.

Jane leans against the counter as she fills out the form she basically has memorized, his eyes taking in the room, her, Al. She can see the wheels spinning in his head, how he watches Al for any sign of—anything.

Jane doesn't know about Al's son and if she has any say in the matter he never will.

Al holds a clipboard out to Jane, the pen stuck between his thumb and the wooden board. "I'll need some photo ID." There's definitely a tone there, defensive, protective, whatever.

The wheels in Jane's head go tick tock, tick tock but he holds up both hands disarmingly. "No thanks," he says. "I'm just here to watch."

Al shoots her a look that she ignores, pretends she's busy reading the fine print, willing him not to rise to the bait and give Jane something to work with.

"Whatever floats your boat," Al says with a lightness that may seem a bit forced. "Still need to sign in, though."

Lisbon looks up and smiles brightly at him. Whatever hell Jane may give her later, cold readings and annoying ability to guess things and whatnot, she's smelling a way out of this matchmaking scheme of Al's.

It _just_ might be worth it.

Paperwork in order and security regulations strictly adhered to (She's a CBI agent, there's no cutting corners here) they make their way through the door to the range.

The place is empty, everyone else at home with their families or TiVo or out saving the world; 12 lanes for her to choose from. Jane's trailing behind her now, letting her take the lead, and she steps into the third booth.

"You sure you don't wanna try?" she offers, holding out her Glock to him in the palm of her hand. It's a sincere offer, she _would_ let him take the first shot, she realizes, but she knows he'd never accept. Jane doesn't believe in guns.

(She saw him fire a gun once. Or, she saw him _after_. Some days, she tells herself that's why she puts up with him. Except she put up with him before that, too.)

He shakes his head, and there's a teasing gleam in his eye. Just here to watch. Right. A blush creeps up her neck and she forces herself to meet his eye, dares him to call her on what she's thinking.

His eyes dart to the gun still in her hand and he stays quiet. She grins.

The first round is gone in just a few minutes and she pulls in the target, does her best not to smirk when she sees that not a single bullet missed its mark.

She can't resist a glance at Jane. His eyebrows are slightly raised and there's an expression on his face she can't quite read. He's either impressed or scared or maybe a little of both.

"Please never aim that thing at me," he tells her jokingly, his eyes shifting to the gun and then back to her face.

The smirk escapes. "Maybe you should rethink your tactics for solving murders," she suggests. It'd probably make her _want_ to shoot him less, anyway.

He grins. "Oh, you'd never shoot me, Lisbon," he says confidently. "Too much paperwork."

"Maybe," she agrees. "But then I'd be done. No more 'Jane did this,' 'Jane threatened to do that' paperwork. My life would be so much simpler."

"But so much less interesting." His confidence is one of the things that annoy her the most about him. Mainly because he's right and they both know it.

And he knows they both know.

She goes for the eye-roll, buys herself a bit of time.

"Come on," he says cajolingly. "Just admit it." He's still grinning, like the whole thing is a joke to him, but still. Maybe, just maybe, he does actually need her to say it?

"No." She turns around and loads her gun quickly, practiced hands on auto pilot.

He shifts behind her, takes a step closer – so close she can feel her hair move in the breeze his breath creates – then moves back to give her space, recommended safety distance for firing guns and for being stuck in closed spaces with some people. She ignores the goosebumps on her arms and fires.

"No, you won't admit it, or no, it wouldn't be less interesting?" he asks her when she runs out of ammo and silence fills the room again, their ear muffs coming back off.

"Does it really matter?"

"Of course it does." He looks so serious she thinks he might mean it.

Before she can make up her mind if he really does, Al comes in, points at the clock on the wall to let them know it's closing time and walks back out. If she'd been alone he would've let her stay longer, he always does. Probably would've told her another couple of anecdotes about his newly single son.

She smiles at Jane, only half turning her head towards him. Doesn't linger long enough to see him smile back.

As they sign back out Al watches them both closely, obviously still trying to figure out the dynamic here.

Jane's apparently done with the deduction and is casually leafing through a brochure with bulletproof vests.

He holds up a page for her inspection, the brochure spread out across his chest like he wants her to get an idea of how the vest would look on.

She nods seriously, eyebrows raised. If he ever puts on one of those, she'll superglue it to his body. "Suits you."

He looks at it again, head cocked to one side. It's obvious to her that he's joking but she realizes that to Al he looks completely sincere. Somehow that makes her feel much better than the paper silhouettes she just finished shooting up. (Why does understanding him always feel like she won some big battle? Really, it should terrify her that he makes sense.)

She picks up her things and he immediately puts the brochure back, a half-apologetic smile at Al. She starts walking and Jane hurries ahead of her to hold the door open for her.

When she turns to wave goodbye to Al he's scratching his neck, shoulders sagged. Poster boy for defeat. She smiles, tries to keep it friendly but not too encouraging (that newly divorced son probably isn't leaving San Diego anytime soon, just like her relationship with Jane won't change into whatever Al thinks it is anytime soon), and then she walks out trying to tell herself she's not both pleased and frustrated by his wrong assumptions.

After all, Jane's impossible. Always playing some game, conning someone, planning his vendetta against Red John.

Still: They catch bad guys and most days that's enough.

She makes her way across the parking lot, unlocks the car and opens the driver side door to get in. She catches Jane's eye, his motions mirroring hers. His smile is warm. Impossible.

Most days it's enough.


End file.
